Perdu
by PrescitedEntity
Summary: PRDT After Conner falls asleep in class again, Tommy wonders if there might not be a reason for it other than boredom. What he finds out, he didn't want to know. Endings are not always completely happy or sorrowful there's room in between.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Frickin' angst in my system. Read too many of these, so of course, I _had_ to add another one. 'S my take on the whole child abuse thing when it comes to DT. Got tired of melodramatics and crying and screaming and all, because that's not how all abused kids react, though I wish it was; if it was, they wouldn't be able to hide it so damnably well. Oneshot, unless I feel like continuing.

**Perdu**

Conner had dozed off in class again. Dr. Oliver frowned – it had been the third time that week, and while the teen was no star student, his disregard for much of schooling certainly didn't extend that far. Rather than calling Conner out, however, Tommy let him sleep until the class ended, worry setting in as the loud ringing failed to rouse his student.

"Conner, wake up." He strode over to the boy, giving him a light prod on the arm; Conner didn't wake, but winced in his sleep, a light whimper escaping his throat. The teacher's frown deepened. He lifted the sleeve of the red t-shirt, finding it to conceal a large contusion the color of decaying pond weed so striking that elicited a sympathetic twinge in his own arm. He thought for a moment, then strode to his desk and filled out a note to Conner's next teacher, excusing the teen from his last class of the day. Tommy wasn't about to let such a nasty bruise go by unaccounted for, even knowing that Conner, like most young men, saw admitting pain as a sign of weakness; if it resulted from Rangerhood, the Red Dino Ranger had to at least inform his mentor.

As it was, his lone student for the planning period did not wake until after school let out – Tommy was perfectly willing to drive him to his house, where the Rangers had agreed on meeting that afternoon anyway, and fittingly enough, on keeping their secret under wraps. After the initial wide-eyed shock, Conner quietly and uncharacteristically consented to everything without a fuss; Tommy thought he saw a look of utter dismay fleetingly flash on the former's face, but it evanesced so quickly that the teacher figured he might just be seeing things.

Indeed, Conner seemed much his normal self during the car ride, ignorant remarks and sarcasm loudly filling the time. The mentor felt a lingering unease, however – he couldn't have just imagined that expression. Finally, a lull came in the then one-sided conversation as they made their way down into the Command Center, still vacant of the other Rangers.

"Conner, when did you get that bruise?" Tommy inquired, lightly touching the sore area on the teen's arm.

"Oh, that? During our last fight. It's not a big deal." Conner shrugged nonchalantly despite flinching at the contact.

"Don't be too egotistical to admit pain – it looks nasty," Tommy reprimanded, grasping the fabric and lifting it, grip tightening as Conner attempted to pull away.

"Maybe, but it's not anything major – we get them all the time," he protested, using his other hand to smooth the sleeve down.

"Are you hiding something, Conner?" Eyes narrowing with suspicion and concern, he swiftly and unexpectedly stepped behind the teen and yanked the sleeve upward, gasping at what he saw. Small, round burn marks, dotted as though sprayed on by an airbrush with a thick paint, brick brown in color and just as blotchy.

Conner muttered a curse, exhaling. "I guess I can't explain that one, can I?"

"Yes, you can. Who did this, Conner?" asked Tommy, voice laden with worry. The question was not the spoken who, but rather, the unspoken why. Conner stood wordless as he was motionless, not responding as he cast his eyes to the ground. "Who did this?" the teacher repeated, more authoritatively, gripping his student's shoulders so hard that his knuckles went white, then releasing his hold with a guilty look as he saw the lines of pain on Conner's face.

"My dad," Conner murmured after an eternally long pause. His voice, barely above a whisper, proved more unsettling than his words, and his succeeding, wry smirk yet more chilling, "I'm not so soccer-focused for no reason." At this, Tommy recalled Conner's threat to resign his Ranger status; he'd found the catalyst – not making the soccer tryouts – vapid to the point of fishiness then, but now part of him wished he couldn't guess the true, all too sensible reason.

"Shit, Conner... What's he been doing to you? How long?" he questioned, voice low with concern for his student and seething with rage at Conner's father for inflicting such torment on a boy that couldn't possibly have deserved any bit of it. His hand balled into fists, nails digging into his palms.

"What you see, to get me to practice more – and for some time now," Conner replied evasively, shrugging again. Cold realization dawned on Tommy; Conner's sleepiness in class must have stemmed from over-exhaustion, from staying up too long to drill soccer techniques. He swore under his breath – he hadn't met Mr. McKnight, but the man had already more than earned his hatred.

"And you haven't told anyone?"

"No." The laconic, easy answer told of just how long the student athlete had been subjected to the treatment, and Tommy swore again. He paced, then picked up the phone, asking Conner for his father's work number.

"Don't call him," came the answer, soft but firm. Conner strode over and wrestled the phone from his startled teacher's hand, adding with a pleading tone, "Please."

"W-why not?" Tommy sputtered, not understanding. Conner merely sighed resignedly.

"I'm in my Senior year, Dr. O. I graduate in the spring, and after that, I'm gone. The last thing I need is to be shuffled through the legal system or put into state custody or some other mess now. Not when I'm already so close to having gotten through it all." He met Tommy's eyes with a weary gaze that no teenager should have in a righteous world. "So please, not a word of this to anyone. I've thought it over for a long time now."

Just as Tommy was about to reply, the other two Dino Rangers reached their rendezvous point in the Command Center. Conner gave their teacher a meaningful look, then strode over, joining Ethan the latter's non-malicious sexist teasing of a very irked Kira. Dr. Oliver watched silently, arms folded, and for once in his mentorship of the Dino Rangers, he didn't know what to do or say. The sight of Conner joking around as easily as ever made him question his mind; had the surreal conversation between him and Conner even taken place? Conner was not withdrawn, not outwardly depressed, not waif thin and lanky and dressed in baggy black clothing – he didn't show any of the stereotypical signs of abuse, save for the only telling one. Had he just imagined the bruises and burns? Tommy brought a hand to his head, massaging his temples, guiltily wishing he'd never discovered them.

"Dr. O! Please start the lecture before these two little boys drive me insane!" Kira called, jarring Tommy out of his thoughts. Conner's beseeching eyes found his, and he knew definitively at that moment that the uncovering of the former's secret had happened. There was no need for the plea; a teacher would not betray a student's request for confidentiality to other students, but it left Tommy with an uneasiness that seeped into Ethan and Kira, who figured that Conner's seeming insensitivity was a result of dullness on his part. When talking about how to cover up and explain away bruises and other wounds resulting from fighting as Rangers, his made a point to avoid looking in Conner's direction; he couldn't have gone on at the sight of the Red Dino Ranger, who had already had too much experience in the matter. At the end of his lecture, the teens began to walk out, deciding to go to the Cyberspace Café before heading home.

"Conner, stay here for a moment." Conner stopped, apparently mulling over just ignoring it and leaving before consenting and telling the others to go ahead to the cars, and not to leave him because he needed a ride. Teacher and student were wordless until the sound of the front door shutting.

"Conner, you can't–"

"Yes, I can," Conner intoned levelly, "I've kept quiet for a while now, and with your help, I'll keep quiet for a while yet."

"Goddammit, Conner! This isn't something to keep to yourself!" The mentor, rather than the student as it should be, lost his cool, slamming his hand onto the nearby counter.

"I know, but it's almost over anyway. Why make a big deal out of it now?"

"If you think I'm going to stay silent after this–"

"You're going to," Conner stated coolly, "Because I'm the Red Ranger of our little bunch, and you can't afford losing me, no matter what you said earlier when I tried to back out." And Tommy knew the teen was right, felt a rush of hatred for it, the guilty feeling of wishing he hadn't gotten entangled in it all returning unbidden. In the stillness, they heard the door open.

"Uh, Dr. O, are you done talking to Conner yet?" Ethan called. Before Tommy could respond, Conner called back, "Yeah, I'll be up in a moment!" The red-clad boy faced his teacher, locking eyes. A faint, weak smile hovered on his face. "Thanks, Dr. Oliver, for at least noticing. That means a lot." With that, he rushed out, leaving Tommy wordless, motionless in the empty room as the sound of cars pulling out of the driveway reached him.


	2. Chapter 2

From the Pulpit: Many people blind themselves to signs of abuse, because they either don't believe it could happen to anyone they see, or because they don't want to get entangled. Don't be one of them. Don't doom someone to even a minute more of abuse than you can prevent.

* * *

With all the years he spent as a Ranger, rushing towards danger that others run from and facing fearsome enemies, no one would think of calling Thomas Oliver a coward. Yet since he'd discovered one of his student's dark secret, cravenness overtook him. 

Conner, on his part, said nothing and did nothing out of the ordinary, at least not advertently. The teenaged boy seemed contented to make it as though nothing had transgressed; when Tommy reflected on this, it only lead to the depressive thought that Conner had dealt with his father's abusiveness for far too long. Even if his silence was the result of coercion and blackmail, it was like keeping a monster in the closet, one that crept out to eat away at his conscience whenever he had a sliver of spare time to pause and think. Watching his new group of Rangers grow and mature as good-hearted young people only worsened Tommy's moral plight. With each act of teamwork, each time they faced and defeated the latest threat to Reefside, Conner's developing selfless nature was a greater weight of guilt upon him.

The teacher hadn't been idle – he wouldn't simply let it lie, not that easily, being a scrupulous man. He'd finally confronted Conner a little over a week after the revelation after gathering his thoughts, calling the boy out after class.

"It's about the test, right? I know I sorta suck at your tests, Dr. O – it's not disrespect, really! I'm just not that great at this science-y stuff, I guess, though I thought I did okay on that last one..." As the Red Dino Ranger stood awkwardly, one foot scuffing against the other, Tommy became acutely aware of just how young Conner was, a fact that he often forgot in the heat of battle or within the impersonally institutionalized walls of the classroom. He derived from that the resolve he needed to broach the uncomfortable subject that shadowed their interactions; no child – no person – should suffer from at parent's hand, least of all someone who'd risk his life to defend others.

"Actually, you did really well on that last one – unless you think a ninety-two is bad." Conner's face lit up in a genuine smile, and Tommy felt that resolve waver, melting, because it was the first time he'd felt a real happiness from the boy since the façade fell away. He fought and won against the urge to let it all go and maintain the easy act and pressed on, gravely, "I wanted to talk to you about what's happened – is happening – to you."

Conner's face fell, leaving not even the merest trace of the smile that had been there moments ago. "There's nothing to talk about, Dr. O," he stated tonelessly, "Nothing's been happening."

"You can't convince me that it's over, Conner," Tommy snapped, frustration already building, "Problems like that don't just disappear."

"When did I say I was trying to convince you? All I'm telling you is that there hasn't been anything in the past week, and I don't have anything more to say to you about it." Conner gave a soft, bitter laugh, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair.

"Even so, what's happened is wrong. It's wrong, and I'm not going to stand for it," Tommy said, "Your father can't treat you that way. You deserve better."

"If I deserve better, then I don't deserve the legal hell that'd come if it got out," Conner retorted, "You know what? I don't want to talk about this anymore." As Conner turned to leave, Tommy reached out, gripping the former's arm and spinning him around, locking eyes in an intense gaze.

"I'm not dropping this, Conner. I'm not letting this go on."

"Which is why you haven't said a damned thing since then?" The words were like a blow; all of what Tommy had wanted to say vanished, deprived of meaning. His grip loosened, and Conner pulled away, his eyes downcast. All of what Tommy had wanted to say vanished, meaningless, as he tried to gather the loose strands of thought into something coherent – the stillness, seconds-brief but even then too long, was stifling.

"It's not...It's not right. Dammit, why can't you see that it's not right?" Tommy finally mumbled, voice betraying his insecurity not only at dealing with the difficult situation, but also at having his cowardice acknowledged. Steeling himself, he continued more firmly, "Being abused like that is not okay, Conner, not even by your father. No one deserves abuse, and you're much too good of a kid to be mistreated like that."

"How old do you think I am?" Conner asked, almost indignantly, "I'm not a kid, Dr. Oliver! I've had to deal with it, and I know what I'm doing. I'm making less of a mess for myself. And my dad's not a bad person – all he's trying to do is make me a good soccer player. Even without that, it's not about him, or about anyone – anything – else. It's for me." He whirled around, striding towards the door, then stopped, turning around, met Tommy's stunned eyes with his own, veiling only half-successfully his hurt and anger and intoning with a coolness that showed neither, "We don't have a choice, not until all this Ranger business is over, anyway, because if I'm taken out of Dad's custody, the Red Dino Ranger will be lost in legal limbo. Until then, I don't want to talk about it again, because there's nothing to talk about."

Conner's words echoed in his teacher's mind every time he saw the teen, and every time, he felt a surge of shame. Though he had the willpower to overcome insurmountable odds in battle when the world was at stake, he found himself unable handle the burden of his student's abuse, despite being compelled both morally and by law, because it wasn't cut and dry, wasn't black and white, wasn't as easy as firing a laser or punching the enemy. This enemy had many faces – an abusive parent who he hadn't even met, a teenager's reasoning that made a disquieting kind of sense, and an obligation to let it all go down for Reefside's, if not the world's sake.

So in his torn state, he kept up the act, and they played their parts as simply teacher and student and fellow Power Rangers. Tommy was shocked and dismayed at how great an actor he proved to be, for no one else even suspected. He didn't want to think about the other possibility – that they turned a blind eye because they didn't want to see – because it was self-incriminating. All the while, he guiltily wished that someone would see through the show they put on and take the responsibility that he was neglecting off his shoulders.

Through it all, he watched; he couldn't ignore the signs he saw. He watched as Conner slept through classes, responded drowsily, even confusedly at times, and glimpsed the bruises that didn't correspond with those he received from monsters; he'd taken to monitoring Conner's fighting just to account for the latter's contusions. Thus, as Conner fell into almost unnoticeable depression midway through the year, apparent only in the fleeting, easily missable snatches of darkness in his expression, so did Tommy, indecision, hopelessness, and guilt bearing down on him.

And life went on. The Dino Rangers defeated Mesagog, losing their powers in the process, and with that obstacle gone, Tommy had almost informed proper authorities. Almost, if not for the fact that Conner came to him, begging that him not to – there was only two months left – and that he wait at least until past prom if he couldn't promise that, so that Conner might enjoy the dance without the mess that waited for him in the courthouse. Tommy, unable to deny the earnest pleas and the joy of prom to a teen who'd been through so much, begrudgingly agreed, with the caveat that they must talk about it after class the next school day.

During the test that class, Conner was drowsy; on his way out of the classroom to the lavatory, he seemed to sway slightly, as though inebriated. When he didn't return after ten minutes, Tommy rang up another teacher to monitor the students for the time, excusing himself to go to the restroom as well. As he entered the restroom tucked away in the corner, he tried to imagine that the sound of water splashing, alternating with a wretched moaning didn't come from behind the single stall in use. He tried the door, apprehension and fear settling leadenly in the pit of his stomach. It creaked open a little; Conner hadn't been able to lock it.

Opening it fully, he gasped at what he saw. Conner was kneeling on the floor, face pallid, eyes bloodshot. His chest heaved dryly, the contents of his stomach already mostly emptied into the toilet bowl, onto the floor, on his clothes...

"Conner!" Tommy fell to his knees, taking hold of his student's shoulders.

"Sorry, Dr. O... I guess I'm not feeling too well..." The teacher laughed nervously, incredulously; not feeling well was a hell of an understatement. Shaking his head, he muttered a few curses as he took out his cell phone, dialing 911.

"D-don't! I'll be fine, really," Conner stammered, his progressively weakening voice contradicting his words.

"The hell you'll be fine!" Tommy hissed, angry at everything and everybody, fuming as he told the emergency responders where to go, then calling the school itself, not willing to leave Conner's side. "Damn it, Conner," he murmured, fading into a whisper. He wrapped his arms around the almost limp young man, overcome with concern, protectiveness, rage, and guilt. "Damn it. Damn it all to hell."

* * *

A/N: I didn't think I'd get an idea suitable to continue the story without making it trite, but this seemed decent. Oh, and side-noting, before anyone points it out - Eric's not home because he's not adept at sports. I might explain in a possible third chapter. 

Before you decry Tommy's actions – and I know some of you will – think about it. Try to see it from his point of view. For a Power Ranger, good and evil are clearly defined; furthermore, remember that although he's a teacher, he's inexperienced, still just twenty-five, still _human and fallible_. Moreover, there's more going on here than even most cases of child abuse. I tried to bring it across through the story, but...yeah. Is he a coward in the story? Yes. But unfortunately, his reactions aren't unrealistic.

I might continue this, but... I dunno. It doesn't end here – there's a bigger part, but I don't know that I'm willing to write anymore, seeing as how this one actually managed to make me emotional, which has never happened before.


	3. Chapter 3

For the rest of the day, Tommy endured the whispered gossip that proved painfully loud. There'd been a sort of telephone effect; in the beginning, it was simply an unsubstantiated rumor that someone had fallen ill. Like all rumors, however, the story was embellished upon with a sprinkling of fact and a downpour of hearsay, mutating into one that had Conner hospitalized with massive internal hemorrhaging, then morbidly into dealings with death. All the while, Tommy sat and listened to his students, knowing the truth up to the teen being carried away in a stretcher, and hoping desperately that none of the low voices knew more than he did.

He'd stayed with Conner when Elsa and the school nurse arrived. Protocol dictated that he go back to his classroom at their arrival, but he couldn't, not in this case, and Elsa, much to the surprise of the nurse, allowed him to stay, even letting him see Conner off as the paramedics in sterile white uniform laid the latter out on a stretcher and took him into the ambulance. The sight of the young man who usually had the energy befitting the athlete that he was laid out and dazed, the whites of his eyes streaked with red and face as sickly yellowish-pallid as cremation ashes, was disturbing and surrealistic – how could this be the same soccer player that had been recruited with such enthusiasm by the college for his fitness? Too easily; the teacher shamefully thought of what Conner had to go through to get to that level, and couldn't meet anyone's eyes afterwards.

Through the remainder of the day, Tommy watched the clock more fervently than any schoolkid, counting what seemed to be each tick and twitch of the hands in nervous, apprehensive waiting, slowly filling with both anxiety and dread until his chest felt fit to burst. Finally, the bell rang, a strange, jarring sound. The students poured out, and Tommy broke his routine of staying after to organize, plan, and grade, leaving as soon as the room had been vacated. Part of him wanted desperately to go home and forget about it all – the same part that had wanted nothing to do with the matter from the start – but he felt obligated to visit Conner, to whom he now owed so much for his bad judgments and cowardice. The car radio was turned to the news wavelength; the reporter's velvety voice came from the speakers.

"A Reefside High School student was hospitalized earlier today after becoming violently ill and collapsing. Doctors at the hospital say that he is being treated for symptoms of acetaminophen overdose. His current condition–"

Tommy turned off the radio, fearful of what more he might hear. Medication overdose – had Conner tried to take his own life? Fear swelled up in his heart, beating an odd rhythm as though it didn't know whether to speed up or stop.

Upon reaching the hospital, he didn't know what to expect; burden of emotion had led him there, but only kin could enter the room of a patient without patient consent, and Conner's condition seemed only likely to deteriorate. Shaking his head as though trying to wake up from a nightmare only to be met with reality, he spoke to the woman at the desk, who placed a call up to check on Conner's room number and condition after assuring herself that this was someone who was close to the teen. She waved him up to the urgent care ward, where another secretary gestured for him to sit in the waiting area. Tommy tried to think of something, anything, but his mind remained stubbornly blank until the secretary called for him, telling him to go in room 247; at this, his mind relaxed somewhat, because that must mean Conner's lucid and well enough to give permission for visitors.

Unthinking of anything besides Conner's well-being, he entered the room, setting down few sheets of paper on the medical equipment.

"Hey, Dr. O," came the still weak voice from the bed. Tommy's eyes met Conner's for a brief moment before he could no longer hold the gaze. As hard as it had been seeing the boy trembling in the restroom stall and being carried on a stretcher, it was even more difficult to see him with the needle of an IV drip in his arm, liquid inching its way down and diffusing in his blood to ease his dehydration. Tommy willed his body to move to the bedside; it finally did, so slowly as to seem to be creaking with the effort.

"Oh, god, Conner," he muttered moments before the stifling silence choked him completely, "Oh, Goddamn." He cupped his hands over his mouth, breathing shallowly, "Why? Why did you overdose? Did you think it was the only way out?"

Conner stared at his teacher for a second, lines of bewilderment etched on his face, before giving the latter a lopsided grin and a part wistful, part exasperated sigh. "No, it's not what you're thinking. I'm not suicidal," he stated bluntly, "Just not all that smart, and maybe a little sleep deprived."

"What do you mean?" Tommy asked, taken aback.

"Well, the recruiter was coming next Tuesday to see me play – I'm already accepted into the college no matter what, so this was to find out how well I'd do on the team, and to find out if I've got a future in soccer." Conner paused here, hesitant to go on; the teacher touched the young man's arm, nodding, and Conner continued, "So yesterday, I was drilling, like always–" here, Tommy shook his head in disapproval, eyes sliding to the floor at his own entanglement – "And I guess I must have sprained my ankle pretty bad, because it hurt like hell. Dad didn't want me to stop practicing because of how important making a good impression was going to be, and I didn't either, so he said to take some Tylenol. I took a few extra strength pills, and it felt a little better. After an hour, it wore off – I guess I must have some tolerance to it now–" _Tolerance?_ Tommy wondered at how often Conner had taken them in the past – "So I took a few more, and..." The teen's voice trailed off as he blushed lightly in embarrassment.

"How many did you take?"

"Maybe twenty? I dunno, I didn't really count." Conner's tone was disconcertingly sheepish.

"And he let you do that?"

"Well, yeah – he's the one that gave them to me."

"Has he...has he done anything since...?"

"...Yeah."

Tommy buried his face in his hands, mumbling, "I'm so sorry, Conner. I – Hell, I should have stopped this when I first found out."

Suddenly, the door swung open, and a man carrying a briefcase and wearing a business suit walked in, concern evident in his physiognomy.

"Dad–"

"Conner, are you okay?" The man – Mr. McKnight – asked, genuine worry with no trace of meanness in his voice.

"I think so. I think I'll be okay."

"Who are you?" Mr. McKnight turned to face Tommy, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. "Why are you here in my son's room?"

"I'm Dr. Thomas Oliver, your son's science teacher. I'm the one who found him sick in the restroom, and I just felt obligated to check on him," Tommy replied, voice unsure at the sight of Conner's father. His bemusement only increased as the latter's expression warmed, extending a hand to the teacher. The man was not at all what Tommy had expected; he'd envisioned a boorish, uncivil sort of person, low-class and mean-spirited, but Mr. McKnight seemed quite respectable.

"Thank you for helping Conner – I hope it wasn't too much trouble? In any case, I don't want to take up more of your time," Harmless a query as this was, it raised a red flag in Tommy's scrutinizing mind – Conner was gravely ill, yet his father's first question was whether or not his son's situation had been a bother? He knew at once the kind of parent the man was, the kind that wanted to parade his son around to boost his own image and ego. With glance at Conner's current state, IV tube jutting out of his arm and the faint remnants of contusions still visible on the young man's upper arm, Tommy resolved to confront Mr. McKnight with what he knew.

"It's trouble, but it comes with being a teacher," he responded evenly, "Though I have a feeling there's more behind this than just a silly mistake."

"What do you mean, Dr. Oliver?" A split-second flinch was all that betrayed the wrong behind the half façade of a kind, caring father.

"I mean, Mr. McKnight, that I question what you've been doing to Conner."

"What I've been doing–"

"Dr. O! Don't, not now," Conner called out, energized by desperation. Tommy, however, plodded on, voice made toneless by his own disbelief at what he was managing to do.

"I saw bruises that can't possibly be from normal bumps. I saw burn marks, Mr. McKnight, and for that, I have reason to report you for child abuse."

"...What?" Conner's father blinked, dumbfounded, while Conner merely slammed his head back against the pillow, closing his eyes and doing his best to shut out the other two people in the room.

"You heard what I said. How do you explain the obvious burn scars on Conner's back?"

"I- You-! What do you intend?" Mr. McKnight sputtered, face reddening.

"What kind of father does that to his child? Hurts his child like that? Lets his child take an obscene amount of medicine?" Tommy asked, voice rising, barely reining in his anger. He grabbed the papers he'd set down – the papers that had been in his office drawer for months – and waved them, "This is the form to file for an investigation by Social Services. I'm filling this out right now."

"Look, I don't know who you think you are, but Conner is my son. I will deal with him, and being his father, no one should be telling me how I should raise my children," Conner's father said, voice dangerously low.

"When you're treating him that way, then yes, something is wrong – damned wrong! I've let it go on too long already, and I'm not letting you off for doing something so horrible," Tommy retorted, unfazed.

"Who do you think you are, to be making that sort of judgment?" Mr. McKnight questioned, now significantly louder.

"His teacher, and someone who cares about him!"

"You think I don't care?" The two voices rose higher and higher in volume. Meanwhile, Conner had lain there shaking his head, more weary than he'd ever felt before; pangs of pain shot like lightning at his stomach, and he pressed on it, doubling up. The clamor of the two men in the room buzzed loudly in his ears, swirling maelstrom-like in his head.

"Stop it, just stop!" Conner yelled, then slumped back, just as abruptly silent as he had been suddenly interruptive.

"Conner?" Tommy strode over to the bed, clasping the young man's shoulders. "Conner?" His questions were echoed by Conner's father, concern returning to his face. The teen, however, was unresponsive.

A nurse went into the room, then rushed out; soon, several people in scrubs dashed in, taking Conner out of the room. One hurriedly explained, "He's comatose – liver problems, possible liver failure."

Mr. McKnight stood paralyzed as Tommy whirled on him, eyes blazing, seething, "Is this what you wanted? Is he doing enough to feed your ego now?"

Conner's father said nothing, only stood there with his head bowed, tears beginning to roll down his face.

* * *

A/N: Not all child abusers are boorish idiots; they'd be much easier to recognize if that was the case. Some are just very driven parents who want to be proud of their children just as much as any others – only for the wrong reasons, and using the wrong methods of child-raising. People who are otherwise intelligent can do very stupid things. 

Actually researched acetaminophen poisoning, and I think I got the effects right. As for the period of lucidity where Conner seemed to be doing better, that's a part of acetaminophen poisoning – the second stage seems like recovery, but isn't. Couldn't believe how many people do OD accidentally per year.


	4. Chapter 4

Some child abusers do care for their children. It is out of an obsessive, blinding aspect of that love that they drive their children – driven people make driven parents. It's just more sensational to focus on the malicious ones – they draw more attention.

* * *

The ladle made slow circles in the broth, spreading the heat out uniformly as Dr. Oliver stirred absently, vaguely going through the list and timing of medications – antibiotics and supplements, mostly – in his mind. His thoughts turned to the past few days, a murky haze of events that seemed more surreal than a dream, yet more terrible and terrifying than a nightmare for being so unmistakably real. 

He'd followed through with his threat, filing the paperwork the day after Conner's hospitalization, all the while questioning himself as to why he didn't – couldn't – feel better about what he was doing. It wasn't simply that it was long overdue, wasn't the inevitable charges he'd face for his belated report, or even his guilt over the role he didn't play in preventing such grievous harm against one of his students, and one so close to him, no less. No, what disturbed him was the expression of sorrowful regret upon Mr. McKnight's visage, the tears and sobs of a man who seemed the type to put on strong fronts regardless of situation, broken back down into the parent he should always have been. Only with the repeated reassurance that it was too little, too late did Tommy manage to complete the forms, and even then with no small apprehension – it would break up a family, something not done lightly, or easily.

Conner's gratefulness at his actions absolved his doubts, but as those subsided, the full extent of the personal ramifications reared themselves in his mind, along with a two-ton weight of guilt upon his chest. The shame at his own cowardice and what it wrought was a familiar burden, and as callous as it may be, Tommy had gotten habituated to carrying it around. It was no less heavy, but as any person, he'd learned to cope in the months he'd stayed silent. Now, for the first time, he confronted another beast – how the whole affair would impact him.

Dr. Oliver the moralistic mentor would never admit it, but Tommy the person could – part of the guilt he felt was over his selfish wish that he'd never gotten entangled in all of it. Remnants of that desire flickered in his mind as he turned the knob, lowering the temperature of the stove; the desire had flared intensely only twice, one of them in the opening seconds of his consultation with his lawyer about his part in the case.

He'd been relieved – guiltily – that he would not face the full implications of the charge against him, a misdemeanor with up to six months in jail and a one thousand-dollar fine in Californian courts, what with the odd circumstances in which there was little evidence he'd had foreknowledge. Indeed, it felt too good in spite of the ignominy that should have accompanied it all when he learned that even that charge was under negotiation – that he may not even have his license to teach revoked, in exchange for his testimony against Mr. McKnight.

The broth simmered slightly, tiny bubbles forming and popping along the side of the pot. Tommy's eyes wandered until they came to rest on the phone hanging to the side of the refrigerator, a little flashing red light indicating that its built-in answering machine had recorded a message. He sighed; though Elsa's concern was appreciated, the frequent calls were too much.

Three days prior, they'd had a confrontation in the hallway, one that was mutually intended. After a stiff exchange of hellos, meaningless filler conversation, and a choked silence, Elsa relayed her bad news.

"Tommy, I'm sorry. I...You must have some idea of what's coming. The school board is already facing harsh scrutiny over the matter – you'll be allowed to finish the year – but there's no way they will let you continue teaching," she babbled, voice showing the guilt she felt at her involvement in the affair as one of the enemies that Conner had used for leverage.

"I know, I know." He handed her an envelope, and with a crooked shadow of a smile, said, "Here – my letter of resignation. I figured I could at least save them some paperwork."

"Tommy..."

"It's fine, Elsa. I couldn't keep teaching, anyway, not after that. Not when every kid's face reminds me of what I did wrong," he murmured, eyes downcast.

"What will you do now?"

"Anton's offered me a position in the company." Unspoken was the explanation – Anton Mercer felt blameworthy much in the same way Elsa did, so there was no need to elaborate.

"I-I see. God, I hope everything turns out better."

"...Me too."

His job with Mercer's company involved very little to date – really, it was more or less an excuse for Anton to give him money to live by – but for that he was thankful; he had much too much to deal with without the stresses of work. After all, he had a person to care for.

Had it not been for Conner's age – eighteen, an adult – the young man might have been handed off to some temporary foster home or made to stay at his own home by Child Services until a proper investigation was conducted. As it was, he was legally liberated and entitled to the difficulties of finding a place to stay for himself; this was the topic of conversation the second time Tommy visited the former Red Dino Ranger laid up in the hospital bed.

"I can't go back there." The dejected admittance, said with a defeated tone and weary half-lidded eyes focused on the peripheral intravenous line stabbed in his arm, marked the first time Conner acknowledged the truth of the transgressions against him. "I can't."

An all too familiar stillness followed where one didn't have anything more to say, and the other didn't know what to say. Finally, Conner spoke up again.

"It isn't fair. I was supposed to go on to college. Pass by the skin of my teeth. Hopefully play ball a few years, then get a steady job," he intoned monotonously, hollowly.

"You can still do that, Conner. This isn't the end of everything. It's–"

"A beginning, yeah, yeah," the young man interjected, a weak, wry smile on his face, "But as far as beginnings go, this is more of an ill omen. I mean, sucky health and no place to go, you know?" He gestured tiredly, erratically with his free hand.

"You don't have living arrangements lined up?"

"No – Mom's finances are strained enough with Eric going to college and stuff, and I don't want his plans put on hold for me. Dunno where I'm going after this."

He didn't want to do it, didn't want to bring more upon himself, didn't want that there should even be the chance that he'd be reminded of his failure every day, but Tommy felt obligated – it was a little in the way of paying the debt of ethics he owed – and he wasn't about to shy away from moral obligation again, especially not to the one who'd suffered because of it.

"I could take you in." Even as the words passed his lips, he felt the stirrings of that same self-absorbed urge to detach himself intensify for the second time as part of him wished desperately that he could take them back.

For the first time in that meeting, Conner met Dr. Oliver's eyes with his own, wide and stunned. He considered it; he didn't want to go, didn't want to live with that unease, didn't want the strongest reminder of the years of abuse he'd been subjected to aside from his father, but at the same time, it was all he could think of and all he could hope for. Even so, he almost declined – Tommy could see the uncertainty in the young man's face, partly wishing Conner would refuse.

Then, wordlessly, Conner had nodded his head. Both felt resignation sink into their hearts.

Steam rose like a specter from the pot, jouncing Tommy into the present; lost in his thoughts, he had neglected the broth, now bubbling furiously. He scooped some into a bowl, which he set on a tray where he'd prepared a sandwich and the proper medication to be taken with lunch. Carrying it, he made his way to the guest bedroom in which his student lay, still largely bedridden. Conner was staring blankly at the television that had been moved into the room, seemingly unaware of the entrant, face sallow from the damage to his liver and made even more so by the wan light emanating from the thin curtains. Neither said anything as Tommy set down the tray and sat upon the bed.

"Conner, it's time for lunch. You have to eat something," Tommy finally said.

"...Yeah," came the distant reply.

"What's on your mind?" Conner turned to face Dr. Oliver and was silent for a moment longer before answering.

"It'll be graduation soon."

"Yes." Laconic answer - but he could find nothing more to say.

"I'll still graduate, since I've done the work."

"Yes."

"I'll still be going to college next year. They didn't rescind me."

"Yes." Tommy wondered what the young man was getting at so somberly – that bit of news had been one of the few positives dotting last week.

"It's just that now... Now, I won't have a home to return to."

And Tommy wanted fervently to tell him contrary, but couldn't, because although Conner lived in his house, it wasn't his home, the place of family and the heart's memories. A home, or the façade of one, had fallen apart right before his eyes.

* * *

A/N: Finally, the conclusion. So hard to write that I put it off for quite a time. 

I don't do happy endings for this kind of story – to me, it's simply too trite to write all the problems away. Went less technical and more emotional than I meant to, though yes, those are the charges for a "mandated reporter" that neglects to report child abuse. I really struggled with this chapter – didn't want to dilute the impact by splitting it up, but found it really hard to pull all the different scenes together. I hope it's a good resolution, if not a happy one. I hope you caught the full meaning of the last sentence. This was difficult to write, to try and capture the enormity and weight of child abuse instead of just storytelling; I hope I did it some semblance of justice.


End file.
